


Due Punishment

by artoni



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Mindfuck, Multi, Oral, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sensory Deprivation, Sticky, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artoni/pseuds/artoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fortress Maximus pays a price for trying to outsmart Overlord...and that price is paid to the entire prison of G-9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Due Punishment

Before, they'd just been ripping and tearing. Barely restrained from completely pulling him apart, held back only by the simple phrase;

_"...try to keep him alive."_

And after all Overlord had done, nobody had wanted to disappoint him.

Now, they're pulling and tugging, but it's not for the sake of damaging, or even pain. They're still getting an enjoyment out of it, he can tell; they're more than eager, trying to haul him in to this position or that, and he can practically /feel/ the laughter, the amusement, and it just makes him want to scream and tear every single one of them apart.

He can't do the latter. An inhibitor claw keeps him from moving anything but sluggishly, not nearly enough to throw a punch or even /try/ to defend himself. The former, well...

Fortress Maximus finds hands not only pulling /at/ him, but pulling /in/ him. Armor pulled and tugged aside, transormation seams exposed and exploited. His panel removed, the units below it pawed at to a degree that makes him shudder and try and kick, but even without the claw there'd be too many of them to _move_. Fingers forced in to his mouth, holding it open to a painful degree as he gurgles, all but gagging around what's forced in. No mistaking that, even with a dampener on his optics; it may not be Overlord's, but the Decepticon has more than familiarized him with the experience.

The fact that he's letting others have a go, though, is nothing if not horrifying. And humiliating. He'd thought it was bad, before, being the focus of Overlord's attentions. Now, though, Fort Max finds himself the plaything of the prison.

Again.

The dampener affects his audials as well. Sound isn't any help, but he's not sure he wants to hear the jeering, the mocking he knows is going on. As someone hauls him back, raking what feels like claws along his aft, making him choke before something else is shoved in there, in to his already-abused valve. By the grip, he has to assume there's actually someone there, and not just a pole or weapon they decided to shove in him like earlier, when the warmth had burned to a painful degree and he /had/ to assume it wasn't a spike. For all he's been introduced to pain in all ways...

He wishes it /did/ hurt. More. That it and his helpless anger and rage and frustration and humilation would be enough to protect him, and offer some sort of defense with all others stripped away. The mech in his mouth pulls out and he gasps for cool air, trying to soothe scorching systems, and earns himself a faceful of fluid for his efforts.

Spark, he wishes that was enough.

It's not. His mouth is quick to be filled again, and there's more pressure at his valve, another something pressing up, and he has just enough time to realize before /another/ spike is jammed in and he howls in agony. All of it _hurts_ , his pride as well as his body, and he wants nothing more than to be freed, for the chance at revenge, for it all to _stop_ as more sets of hands run about him, feeling at him, and _primus damn them get away, get away from me, I'll kill you all, every last one of you, stop-_

Stop dragging /anything/ from him. Because for all of his loathing, some of it is aimed at himself, because scorch him to the pit _why is he charged, too?_

If he wasn't, maybe he could take this. Overlord's already dragged a few precious secrets from him but they haven't been without a fight, they haven't been without effort, and last time when he couldn't take any more he'd tried to trick him, tried to insert some falsehoods in the truth, tried to set it up so Overlord would be the one to fall-

And this was his reward. Being hauled up half-awake, energon shoved down his throat (he's never allowed to take it himself, it's always either siphoned in to his fuel lines or fed directly to him, willing or not), bound with a claw and something put on his helm that knocked out audial and visual. From there, moved, thrown on to the ground, and then _this_.

Fort Max could weep, he's so angry. So enraged. So _humilated_ , used as nothing more than a _fragtoy_ , and what's worse is that as much as he hates the charge, hates his body for taking it, letting it rise-

-something is keeping it from dispersing. From overload. He's being pushed to the edge again and again, the abuse somehow enough to stimulate, and it won't _end_. The black he sees and hear amplifies it all, makes it all more intense, and that includes what painful pleasure is forced on to him. There's nothing to focus on /but/ feeling, and he's losing himself to it.

He doesn't know how long it goes on. How long he's used for, how many overload inside him, on him, around him. One's barely done before replaced, and he hysterically thinks the entire prison must be taking their turn using him for their pleasure before he just stops thinking. He just screams, chokes, writhes, and _suffers_ it all, before suddenly there's no more.

Suddenly he's left alone.

Exhausted to the point of tears, the ex-Warden can only rest with his face pressed the soiled ground, feeling utterly defiled. He can't even go _offline_ to escape, only trembling with a kind of agony he's never known before. His armor is coated with fluid, to say nothing of what's leaking out of his mouth and valve.

When something touches him, he can't help it - he flinches, a weak, staticky cry escaping his vocalizer. _Enough,_ he wants to beg. _Enough, please. You've had enough._

The touch stays, running along the back of his helm in an almost soothing manner. Maximus _shudders_ , knowing any such thing is a lie. There _is no_ comfort here in Garrus-9, not even the comfort of his own lies. There is nothing but a spark-numbing agony, the kind that leads him to not even think it a blessing when his sight and hearing is restored.

Because he recognizes the pedes before him. He dims his optics, voluntarily removing his sight as Overlord chuckles softly, stroking his helm again.

"Poor Maximus," he mockingly coos, reaching back to trace along the neck. "Just _look_ at yourself."

Fortress Maximus somehow manages not to whimper as the hand continues down, moving along his damaged treads, and then beneath them to the burning circuitry that /still/ cannot let go of the energy. He cannot help but arch up, desperate for something - anything - to relieve it.

To relieve _him_.

Overlord notices this with clear amusement. "Oh? Did you want something, Max...?" Fingers tug at the wiring, evoking sparks of feeling. And with them, humilating noises somewhere between sobs and whimpers. And as they continue, Fort Max realizes with horror what Overlord is after. "I couldn't imagine what."

Oh, Allspark. He's not..."Please," he whispers, choking out the sound. _Please don't make me beg._

Because he will, and they both know it. He can't _take_ this, this pain and bruising and he _still_ can feel his valve clenching around nothing, needing /something/ in it, pounding, driving him up and past and now Overlord is hauling him up, dragging Fort Max on to his lap as the mech reluctantly reactivates his optics. Overlord steadies him with the hand at his back while he looks down, _tsking_ as his other hand touches some of the fluid leaking out.

"Filthy," he all but sneers. And then there's fingers at his mouth again, fingers pressing in, coated with who knows how many mechs' transfluid, and Max is forced to taste it on his tongue with too weak a spark to bite down.

Biting means pain. He can't take any more on top of everything else. He's done. Let them be done...

"Please," Max says again, words muffled by the fingers but still humiliatingly clear. _Please, finish this._

Overlord considers him, turning his fingers around in Max's mouth, and Max knows what's expected. He closes his lips around then, reluctantly cleaning them, and not even caring enough about the sick taste of transfluid. It brings a pleased rumble from Overlord, but that's no comfort.

He feels sick all over, and still _needy_. He knows - he's learned - that Overlord _does_ have a twisted sense of mercy, which only equates to finishing one of his torments when he gets what he wants.

If the point of this was to hurt and humiliate, then he's succeeded. And apparently, it's enough for now, because Overlord simply smiles as he pulls his fingers out, adjusts his grip on Fortress Maximus and uses it to change his position...

...and then, once more, there's something filling his valve. Harsh and fast, dragging a sobbing cry from Maximus as he lets his head fall back, and _Primus_.

He hates Overlord with every fibre of his being. He hates and fears him in ways he'd never thought possible, because Overlord has taken so much, _so much_ from him, and still demands more. His prison, his men, his knowledge, his pride...

...but the mech can _frag_ , and for that, Fortress Maximus. wants to _hurt_ him. For teaching Max to enjoy rape, in any way, shape, or form - because despite his desperation and his bucking against the spike going in and out, he clings to the fact that all of this is unwilling, even with a choice between being fragged and being fragged _up_. But he's never _given_ the choice, like now he's just on for the ride and even with the renewed onslaught _he still can't overload_.

He screams static in frustration, the sound echoed by Overlord's dark laughter. The Decepticon knows very well what keeps paining him, and Max realizes this isn't a mercy. This is just part of the game. What little relief is gone, replaced once more by sheer frantic _need_ , and before he knows it, he's almost babbling. "Fragging- please, please, _scorch it_ , I need- _please_!"

"You need _what_?"

He doesn't want, he doesn't want to, please don't make him- Fort Max shakes his head from side to side, not bothering to restrain his vocalizer's garbled sounds. There's not enough left in him right now to do so, and he'll hate himself (even more) later, even as he tries to resist, tries to hold back, but no.

He can't.

" _Fragging let me overload, you piece of scrap!_ "

It's a shriek more than anything else. An utterly futile demand, but he _can't break_. He's not ready to give that up yet.

Overlord is not amused.

In an instant, Fortress Maximus is thrown down, and he shrieks again as the spike is pulled out completely. Spark, here it comes, it wouldn't be the first time he's left with a charge like this and left for it to disappate on its own, and he's already trembling at the thought of _that_ particular torment. It's a curse and a blessing that Overlord stays over him, red optics narrowed to slits, a hand going to Fort Max's throat and pressing down hard enough to choke off the energon rush to his processor. It goes without saying that his vocalizer can only static as he thrashes weakly, trying desperately for something, anything, _please_ , " _Please!_ "

"Filthy," Overlord sneers again, easily pinning Max down with a single hand. "I should have let your fellow guards have a go, too. You'd have _liked_ that, wouldn't you, Maximus? But you'd take the spike of an turbohound at this point."

He might. He would. The thrashing melts in to trembling and weak gasping, Fort Max unable to do anything but listen as Overlord continues describing the depravities Max would take right now, and take /happily/, the used little piece he is. And he'd beg for more, beg for anything, and they _burn_ in to him, tearing away anger and hatred and replacing it only with utter humiliation. Shame.

_Please, enough._

"And just think, all of this could have been avoided if you hadn't tried to be _smart_. I thought you knew better than that, but apparently there's still a part of you that thinks you can get some kind of /victory/. Which is odd, because I was certain I've already _destroyed it_. Perhaps now...?"

Maybe. Maybe not. If there is any part left, then it's staying hidden and tucked away; he can't show it, not if he wants to survive. As it is _he's_ trying to hide too, face at the floor again, ventilations stuttering with weakness and for all of his pride, _that_ he has no shame showing. It's what Overlord wants.

_Give him what he wants._

But Overlord doesn't want him to hide, apparently. He takes Max's chin in hand, forcing it to turn and for their optics to lock. "Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"

**_Give him what he wants._ **

"I'm sorry," whispers Max.

There's a flash of surprise in Overlord's optics, so small and subtle that if Fort Max hadn't made himself become aware of the Decepticon's moods he might not have noticed it at all - and even then, it's replaced so quickly with a _satisfaction_ that has come to churn Maximus' on sight.

But it's still what he wants.

"Come again?" Overlord growls. _Louder,_ he means. _Louder, so you can hear it, too._

And so close to breaking, Fortress Maximus _has_ to bend. If he resists, then he _will_ break, and that will be it. All of this has been a matter of pressure and how much he can _take_ , which...isn't nearly enough. He _should_ be stronger, he _should_ be able to take this, he _should-_

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, dimming his optics. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry-_ "

It's a mantra. But it's a mantra that results in Overlord reaching back and doing something, releasing the claw, and immediately there's another rush of energy through Maximus that has him arching up in renewed need and desperation, and then Overlord has a hand on hip and shoulder, and is _slamming_ in again, and it takes only two thrusts before the world erupts and Fort Max is screaming, but this time it's in relief as pleasure finally _breaks_ -

When he comes to, it's still not over. Overlord's arms are wrapped around him, holding him in place with a gentle firmness as pleasure continues to buzz in his processor. There's still a spike in his valve, thrusting lazily, and after the violence of before it's something Max has utterly no defense against.

He gasps with each rolling thrust, gasps that eventually turn in to groans. Unabashed sounds of pleasure as there's a familiar chuckle by his audial, and then a mouth on his to force it open and swallow it all. Overlord continues to frag him, but unhurridly, now, clearly savoring his victory as Max lies back and arches back.

It feels too good.

He's brought to overload again before long, sobbing as the energy crests and peaks and _goes_ without any further restraint. It saps the strength of him, chassis and spark, to when Overlord keeps going, urging another-

-once again, Max stops thinking. Defeated, he suffers the pleasure as he did the pain, the thick spike finally pulsing and releasing inside him as so many others already have.

Overlord sags on to him, the purr of his systems making his pleasure clear as much as his own overload. And with himself so spent, Fort Max can't find the weight of him revolting, right now, or the feel. Time for that later, he distantly notes, drifting on a haze of numbness he waits to take him offline...

"And now," comes the hateful murmur, lips brushing along his neck and sending a few last prickles of sensation through him, "I think we'll try those codes again, won't we?"

As Overlord's hips jerk forward in emphasis, Fortress Maximus only emits a weak cry of static...and nods.


End file.
